Hecuba (769-835)

Where did he place him apart from the sons he then had?

In this very land, where his corpse was found.

With Polymestor, the king of this country?

He was sent here in charge of gold, most bitter trust!

By whom was he slain? What death overtook him?

By whom but this man? His Thracian host slew him.

The wretch! could he have been so eager for the gold?

Just so, when he heard of the Phrygians’ disaster.

Where did you find him? or did some one bring his corpse?

This woman, who happened upon it on the sea-shore.

Was she seeking it, or bent on other tasks?

She had gone to fetch water from the sea to wash Polyxena.

It seems then his host slew him and cast his body out to sea.

Yes, for the waves to toss, after mangling him in this way.

Woe to you for your measureless troubles!

I am ruined; no evil now is left, Agamemnon.

Ah! what woman was ever born to such mischance?

There is no one, unless you would name Chance herself. But hear my reason for throwing myself at your knees. If my treatment seems to you deserved, I will be content; but, if otherwise, help me to punish

this most godless host, fearless alike of gods in heaven or hell, who has done a most unholy deed; who, though often he had shared my board and been counted first of all my guest-friends

meeting with every kindness he could claim—. And receiving my consideration, he slew my son, and bent though he was on murder, did not think it right to bury him, but cast his body forth to sea.

I may be a slave and weak as well, but the gods are strong, and Custom too which prevails over them,

for by custom it is that we believe in them and set up boundaries of right and wrong for our lives. Now if this principle, when referred to you, is to be set at nothing, and they are to escape punishment who murder guests or dare to plunder the temples of gods,

then all fairness in human matters is at an end. Consider this then a disgrace and show regard for me, have pity on me, and, like an artist standing back from his picture, look on me and closely scan my piteous state. I was once a queen, but now I am your slave;

a happy mother once, but now childless and old alike, bereft of city, utterly forlorn, the most wretched woman living.

as Agamemnon is turning away. Ah! woe is me! where would you withdraw your steps from me? My efforts then will be in vain, ah me! Why, oh! why do we mortals toil, as we must, and seek out all other sciences,

but Persuasion, the only real mistress of mankind, we take no further pains to master completely by offering to pay for the knowledge, so that any man could convince his fellows as he pleased and gain his point at once?

How shall anyone hereafter hope for prosperity? All those my sons are gone from me, and she, my daughter, is a slave and suffers shame. I am lost; I see the smoke leaping over my city. Further—though this is perhaps idly urged,

to plead your love, still I will put the case—at your side lies my daughter, Cassandra, the inspired maiden, as the Phrygians call her. How then, king, will you acknowledge those nights of rapture, or what return shall my daughter or I her mother have

for the love she has lavished on her lord? For from darkness and the endearments of the night mortals have their keenest joys. Listen, then; do you see this corpse? By doing him a service, you will do it to a kinsman of your bride’s.

I have only one thing yet to urge. Oh! would I had a voice in arms, in hands, in hair and feet, placed there by the arts of Daedalus or some god, that all together they might with tears embrace your knees,